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Neighbors Growing Together | Nov 1, 2014

Frog prince gets the royal flush

By STEPH TAHTINEN | Aug 03, 2012

 

Awhile back, one of my coworkers said, “It must be nice to be Steph. She never has to come up with a column topic. Things just happen to her.”

I certainly seem to be a magnet for the bizarre, as well as an attraction to uninvited four-legged houseguests. Thankfully, my most recent unexpected visitor was not a mouse. It was not even a rodent. It was an amphibian. More precisely, it was a frog.

In my toilet.

On Monday, July 23, I walked into my bathroom to hear a strange splashing sound. Almost unbelievably, there was a frog trying to leap out of the bowl. After a reactionary scream of “Oh my, God!” and a secondary thought of “Yes! I have a column topic!” I bolted to the other room and did what I always do at moments like this — I called my parents.

The conversation went something like this:

“Mom! I have a frog in my toilet!”

“Talk to your dad.”

His advice was to try to flush it. So I went back into the bathroom and shut the lid (I recall thinking that the shut lid would create a sort of vacuum that would assist in the process). After flushing, I lifted the lid again.

“It’s still there!” I wailed.

It was even worse, as the water level going down allowed the frog to get a better grip, enabling it to climb higher up the side of the bowl. Meanwhile, I could hear my sister in the background over the phone suggesting catch-and-release. I figured I was capable of doing that (more so with a frog than with a mouse, anyway), and it didn’t seem that the frog was flushable.

So I went to the kitchen and brought back a plastic bowl with a lid. I put Dad on speakerphone and laid my phone on the counter. I held the plastic bowl in my left hand and its lid in my right, prepared to go to work. However, by this time the frog was so far up the side of the bowl it was underneath the slight overhang created by the seat. The only way to get to it would be to lift the seat, which would remove the overhang barrier, allowing the frog to escape into the room. I didn’t want that to happen.

As I tried to figure how to best do this, Dad started telling me how years ago my parents had a bat in their toilet. At first glance Mom had thought it was a frog, and Dad told her there was no way there could be a frog in a toilet.

“I guess you proved me wrong,” Dad laughed.

By this time, the frog had ended up back down in the water, and started to crawl down the drain itself. My panicked self took advantage of the opportunity and flushed. Then I flushed again. Then a few more times. I even threw in some toilet paper to help force it down.

As I sat there on the edge of my tub, talking with Dad and flushing intermittently just to make sure, I started to feel a little bad and I hoped that the frog survived his little trip down the waterslide. He wasn’t really doing any harm, after all. It’s been so dry outside, the poor guy was probably just looking for a little water and my toilet bowl seemed like a nice little pond for him.

Then I had a second thought — maybe I was actually playing a role in a classic fairy tale, and the frog was really a prince in disguise, his desperate leaps really pleas for assistance. And what did I do? I just callously flushed him away.

Hopefully the karmic repercussions aren’t too bad.

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